Past, Present and Future
by DobbyRocksSocks
Summary: Christmas Carol!AU, Soulmate!AU. George is stuck in a hopeless loop of bitterness and anger. Can a few visiting ghosts help him break the loop? (Warnings for alcoholism, and mild mentions of child abuse)


**Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.**

 _Written for Hogwarts assignment 10. Muggle Music, Task #3: Write about the effects on a family torn apart by alcoholism and/or drug addiction at Christmas._

 **Word Count - 4481**

 _Beta'd by Sam_

 _Triggers for Alcoholism, mild mentions of child abuse, and… quite a lot of pain? Oops._

* * *

 _ **Past, Present and Future**_

* * *

 _ **December 19th, 2001**_

George hit the floor with a dull thud, the impact knocking the air from his lungs.

"And stay out!"

He looked up in time to see the angry bartender turn away and storm back into the bar. George thought about following, about causing a fight.

He might have done it too, if he could actually stand.

"Here, let me help you up," a voice said from above. George couldn't focus beyond the recognisable whites of the Healer Robes as he was pulled to his feet.

A jolt of connection shot through him as soon as their palms pressed together, and he felt as though someone had just thrown a bucket of water over him, removing all traces of the alcohol he'd spent hours consuming.

Staring into hopeful blue eyes, George only felt disgust.

"Sorry to disappoint," he sneered, pulling his hand away. "I'm not in the market for a soulmate."

"But -"

"Fuck off."

George didn't give the familiar man a chance to say anything else. He turned on the spot, Apparating away to his flat, where he could start once more on numbing himself with alcohol.

…

 _ **December 21st, 2002**_

"George, you have to come," Ginny snapped, glaring at her brother. "Mum will be heartbroken. _Again_."

George rolled his eyes. "She should be used to it; I haven't been there for Christmas for four years."

"And every year, it breaks her heart. We all understand that you're still grieving, George, _we are too_ , but you can't keep being so selfish!"

George ignored her, storming away and slamming the door to the store room closed behind him. He was so sick of her bugging him about Christmas. He was so sick of them all bugging him at all.

Why couldn't they just leave him alone?

…

 _ **December 22nd, 2002**_

"Oh. Erm. Hi."

George stared at Seamus for a long moment before he turned his head away. He couldn't look at those blue eyes. He _couldn't._

He heard a shuffle beside him, and the younger man turned away. "Merry Christmas, George."

George heard him sigh sadly before walking away.

It wasn't that he was angry with Seamus for being his soulmate. He wasn't. He didn't blame Seamus. In fact, George pitied Seamus, because the poor man had a soulmate who'd lost half of his soul.

That wasn't fair to anyone.

Still, there were stories of people deciding they didn't want their soulmates and still living happy lives. Seamus could meet someone else who, for whatever reason, wasn't with their soulmate.

He didn't have to be cursed with having to deal with George for the rest of his life.

…

 _ **December 24th, 2002**_

The whisky bottle fell from his loose grip as his head lolled back against the chair. George's eyes closed of their own volition, the alcohol lulling him into the darkness of unconscious.

A bright light lit the room, and his eyes blinked open. He felt… odd. Sober and yet still relaxed in the chair.

The only answer was that he was dreaming, because it had been years since George had felt anything but tense while sober.

He looked around the room for the source of the light, only to rub his eyes when he saw what was causing it.

"Now I know I'm dreaming," he muttered to himself. "Nice robes, Sir."

Albus Dumbledore smiled at him. "Yes, I'm rather fond of these ones," he agreed, looking down at the lime green and purple robes.

They were edged in tinsel.

 _Tinsel_.

"But you're not dreaming."

George stared. "I beg to differ."

"Of course you do," Dumbledore replied airily, still smiling. "We're worried about you, dear boy."

"Who is?"

"Well, everyone. All of your family, your friends… your _soulmate_. Both those who are living and those who are awaiting you in the afterlife."

George tried to sit up straight in the chair, but it was like he was stuck in place, his limbs too relaxed to let him move.

"Have you seen Fred? Can you bring him here?" he asked, the words coming out so quickly they ran into each other. "Please, Sir, can you bring him?"

Dumbledore's smile turned sad, but he didn't answer. Instead, he said, "This evening, you're going to be visited by a few spirits, George. Please, pay attention to what they are showing you. Change, before it's too late."

Dumbledore started to fade from the room.

"Is Fred coming?" George shouted, fighting whatever was keeping him in place.

"I wish you the merriest of Christmases, George."

George shot up from the seat as Dumbledore disappeared. He ran headlong into the wall, banging his head as he did so.

Tears fell down his cheeks as hope was snatched away and he slumped turned to lean back against the wall, slumping to the floor with his head in his hands.

…

"You're a mess, kid."

George ignored the voice. It sounded familiar, but it wasn't the one he wanted to hear so he wasn't interested.

"Come on, Son. Up and at em, we're on a schedule."

A hand on his arm startled him, because since when could spirits touch the living? He looked up, startled to see two matching faces looking down at him.

"Uncle Fabian? Uncle Gideon?"

"In the… well. Not flesh. Slightly solid pearly-ness?"

Gideon snorted at his brother, shaking his head.

"What? You just pulled him to his feet, Gid, we're obviously not normal ghosts, are we?"

"Shouldn't you know what you are?" George asked, looking between them, forgetting his disinterest for a moment.

How often was it that you were visited by dead uncles?

They shrugged simultaneously.

"We're not running this show, kid. We just showed up when we were told to show up. Come on, like I said, we got a schedule to keep."

"Where are we going?" George asked, scowling. "I'm not exactly fit for company right now."

"You haven't been fit for company for years."

" _Fabian!"_

"What? Isn't that why we're here?"

Gideon sighed deeply. "Let's just…" he grabbed hold of George's arm.

…

"Well that felt disgusting," George grumbled, as the three of them materialised outside a small house. "Where are we?"

"You'll see. Lean against the wall, you'll be able to see inside."

George did as he was told and seconds later, he was overlooking a sad scene. A little boy knelt on the floor, two adults, a man and a woman, sitting on a threadbare couch above him.

There was a Muggle TV playing in front of them. On the screen, a Christmas like George remembered from his own childhood, full of colour and smiles and laughter.

"Mam, why don't we have a tree like that?" the kid asked, turning around. George belatedly realised it was Seamus. He'd recognise those blue eyes anywhere.

The man on the sofa growled at the boy, kicking a foot at him. Though it didn't connect, Seamus flinched away. The sight made George's heart clench.

"Don't be so bloody greedy, boy," the man growled. "Do you think money grows on trees? Don't you get enough?"

"Yes, sir, sorry, sir."

George shook his head and turned away. He couldn't watch this. He also couldn't reconcile this kid from the Seamus he remembered at Hogwarts.

At Hogwarts, Seamus had always been bright and happy from what George remembered. "I've seen enough of this," he said to Gideon and Fabian. "Can we just… go."

Gideon shrugged, and nodded, offering his hand. They faded, rematerialising outside the Burrow.

"You might as well just take me home, I'm not going in there." George said, nodding at his childhood home.

"You're right, you're not," Fabian agreed, tugging him over to the window. "Look."

George glared for a moment before he gave in, peering through the window into the living room. He felt a sharp pain in his gut, spreading quickly until he felt like he was on fire.

Sat on the floor by the Christmas tree was Fred, sitting beside George. They were both wearing their annual Christmas jumpers, letters switched like always, and it looked like they were having a tug of war over a present.

George remembered this moment. They'd been eleven, it was their first Christmas home from Hogwarts.

"Take me home," he demanded, looking back at Gideon and Fabian. "I can't… I don't… _I can't watch this."_

Gideon gripped his arm and the scene faded away.

George felt like he could breathe again, only to have the breath snatched away when they materialised again, this time seemingly floating in mid air over Hogwarts, watching younger George and Fred in the Common Room of Gryffindor Tower.

They were sitting side by side in front of the fire, matching smiles on their faces.

Before George could protest, the scene faded and was replaced by another, from when they were young, eight or nine. Another, when they were four or five, and then another, the last they shared before… Before.

George screwed his eyes shut, he couldn't stand to look, couldn't stand the influx of memories assaulting him.

"You're home, kid."

"Why?" George croaked out, ignoring his wet cheeks. "Why would you show me that?"

"You needed to remember happier times," Fabian said quietly. "You needed to remember what it felt like to _live."_

"Try and remember how you felt," Gideon prompted. "Try and remember what it felt to sit with people you loved, to laugh and joke and be _happy,_ George."

"I… I can't."

"Fred might be dead, but you're not. Do you really think that this is what he wants?"

Before George could answer, the two of them were no longer there.

"I remember what I felt like," George said to an empty room. "I felt whole."

…

"Oi. Get up."

George blinked his eyes open. He hadn't realised he'd fallen asleep until he was suddenly awake, looking up at a scowling face.

"Up, let's go."

"What crawled up your ass?" George asked, making no effort to move.

"You're making my best friend sad, and that irritates me. So. Time to get your head out of your ass, let's go."

Just like that, George recognise the young man in front of him. Dean Thomas. Seamus' friend.

If he was honest, George was only vaguely aware that other people had died at the battle, so it was somewhat sobering to be faced with someone who'd died so young.

"I-"

"Nope. Let's go."

…

"What… What are we doing here?" George asked, staring once more at the Burrow. "I've already done this once tonight."

"Hmm. Past Christmases. This is this Christmas. This is happening right now."

George blinked, but approached the window when Dean gestured to it. Looking through, he frowned when he saw his mother sitting in the lone armchair, tears falling down her cheeks as Ginny and Percy tried to comfort her.

"Do you want me to go over to his flat?" Bill asked, from the doorway. He looked… worn. George struggled to remember the last time he'd seen his oldest brother.

Molly shook her head. "He's… he's still grieving. It's not his fault. Don't be mad at him."

"I _am_ mad at him," Ginny muttered. "He's not the only one who lost Fred."

"He's hurting, Ginny. We just… we have to be patient," Molly replied. She wiped at her face and attempted a smile. "Who wants hot chocolate?"

There was a murmur of accent, and Molly left the room. Ginny sagged into the armchair, running a hand over her face.

"I understand that he's hurting, but while he's self destroying, we're all here watching Mum _cry_ about losing both of her sons. He should be here, dammit."

Percy nodded, running a hand over Ginny's hair. "Mum's right though, Gin. We can't be mad at him when he does come back. We can't chase him off."

"If he comes back," Bill said, tiredly. "I… I saw him in Diagon Alley a few months ago and…" Bill shook his head, unable or unwilling to finish the sentence.

"We have to believe in him," Percy said sternly. "He's lost at the moment, but he'll find his way home."

George looked over at Dean. "I… this is now?"

Dean nodded. "Yup."

"I… my mum…"

Dean held his hand. "Time to go. I need to show you something else."

George took the hand, grimacing when they faded into nothing.

…

George blinked. "St Mungo's?"

Dean nodded silently, looking straight ahead with longing on his features. George followed his eyeline and suddenly understood. Seamus was standing at the reception desk, talking to another Healer. George moved closer, his legs moving before he'd even thought about it.

"You're sure you want to stay?" the older Healer was asking, a frown on his face.

Seamus shrugged and nodded. "Sure. Better me than someone who has family to celebrate with, right?"

The other man looked down at the bond mark on Seamus' palm. Seamus saw where he was looking and closed his hand into a fist.

"Really, it's fine. If I get tired, I'll catch a couple of hours in the cribs."

George looked at Dean. "He's… working? Right over Christmas?"

Dean looked back at George cooly. "What else is he going to do? Your uncles showed you what his home life was like, didn't they?"

George nodded, suddenly ashamed that he hadn't realised that. If Seamus couldn't go home, and clearly his best friend wasn't an option, what else would Seamus be doing?

"I… can we leave?"

Dean offered his hand silently and George took it gratefully.

They landed in the living room of George's flat, and George took a deep breath, relieved that he wasn't going to be shown anything else.

"I don't… I'm sorry about your friend. I don't… it's not him. I'd hoped… well, it's been a year. I'd hoped he'd given up on me, and gone to find someone who can give him what he needs."

"What he needs," Dean replied, "is you. When you pull your head out of your ass, you'll realise just how much you could offer each other."

"I… I can't."

Dean shook his head and disappeared, leaving a disapproving air behind him as though he was still in the room.

George slumped into his armchair, letting his head fall back. Whatever this night was, he hoped it was _done._

He didn't know how much more he could take.

…

A rattling breath filled the silence, and George sat upright in his chair, horrified when he saw a Dementor approaching him silently. He scrambled from the seat, backing up against the wall and floundering for his wand.

 _Where the bloody hell was it?_

He was about to try and run from the room when he realised that he was… warm and… laughter was coming from beneath the dark robe. The robe was lifted, and before George knew what was happening, he was face to face with _Fred_.

He stumbled forward, wrapping his arms around his twin, burying his face against Fred's neck. Fred hugged him back tightly, murmuring comforting words into his ear as George sobbed against him.

George didn't know how long they stood there, but Fred didn't seem to be in any major hurry. When he finally pulled back just enough to look at him, his heart broke just that little bit more.

They were no longer a mirror image.

Fred was still his twenty year old self, while George was twenty four and… not exactly taking care of himself.

Fred seemed to read the thoughts from his mind because he smiled a sad smile. "I'm definitely the better looking one now."

George's grip tightened slightly. "I'm so mad at you," he muttered, blinking away fresh tears.

"I'm sorry I left you, Georgie," he murmured. "So sorry. But this, what you're doing… you know it's not right, don't you?"

"What else am I supposed to do?" George asked, his voice low. "You're… you're gone and I don't… who am I without you?"

"You're George Weasley," Fred said, his voice firm. "You're still you, Georgie. Come on, I gotta show you some things."

"What… you're going to show me future Christmases, aren't you?" George asked, thinking about the visits he'd already done that night.

Fred nodded, looking sombre. "Yeah, Georgie. I'm going to show you the future. Come on."

…

They arrived at St Mungo's once more, only George knew immediately that they were quite a few years into the future. Seamus looked… haggard.

"You know," a nurse to George's left said. "He works every single Christmas. It's weird. I mean… he's bonded, you can see the mark on his hand, and yet, he leaves his soulmate to work."

The girl she was talking to, a younger nurse, shrugged. "Maybe he lost his bondmate?"

"It's still shining blue," the older nurse pointed out. "And, well, he works so much. I wouldn't want my soulmate to work so much."

"Healer Finnegan is a fantastic Healer," the younger replied, frowning. "And that he works Christmases means that others don't have too. Why are you making it out to be so bad?"

The older nurse shrugged, looking down at the files she was working on. "I'm just saying; it's weird."

George looked at Fred to see him watching Seamus with sad eyes. "He works every Christmas?"

Fred nodded. "He misses one, just one. That… well. Come on, I'll show you."

George took Fred's offered hand, and seconds later, they were materialising in a hospital room.

"I thought you said he missed one?" George asked.

"Look closer."

George took a few steps so that he could see better and gasped. It was him lying in the bed, Seamus on the chair, holding his hand, their soulmarks palm to palm.

"What… happened?"

"You drank yourself into a stupor," Fred replied quietly. "And were found in the middle of Diagon Alley, face down in your own vomit. This isn't the first time it's happened, just the first time it's happened at Christmas. It… it won't be the last. Seamus refuses to work until you check yourself out. Every time."

George shook his head. He looked _awful._

Seamus didn't look much better. He just looked so _tired._

Fred rested his hand on George's shoulder and they appeared at the Burrow.

George looked through the window to see a similar scene as the last time he'd been here. Only this time, Ron and Charlie were comforting their mother.

"What year is this?"

"2009," Fred replied. "But I can show you every year, and this scene is always the same. Mum always cries over you at Christmas. The others, they take turns at trying to comfort her. It never works, but you know Mum. She pretends well."

George felt tears on his cheeks. He hadn't even realised he'd started crying again.

"This is all because of me," he whispered. "I'm hurting everyone."

Fred wrapped his arm around George's shoulders. "You can fix it, you know? The future… it's not set in stone."

"I… can we go home?"

Fred shook his head. "I have one more thing to show you, Georgie. Then I'll take you home."

…

George put his hand over his mouth as he took in the scene.

Healers swarmed around a redhead on the ground outside of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. The shop was clearly long closed, the outside of it had fallen into disrepair. It was painful to look at.

"I'm not giving up," a voice snapped, and George was almost afraid to move closer.

"Seamus," an old man murmured, resting a hand on Seamus' shoulder. "He's gone."

Seamus fell back, tears streaming down his face. "He… I…" he shook his head. "He never gave me a chance to help him."

"Time of death," the older healer murmured. "Eleven minutes past Midnight, December 25th."

Seamus slumped down onto George's unmoving chest and he _sobbed._

George looked around to see Fred watching the scene with pearlescent tears falling from his own eyes.

This couldn't be happening. It just… George couldn't deal with any of it. He fell to his knees and covered his eyes with his hands.

It wasn't real.

…

 _ **December 25th, 2002**_ **.**

George sat up, looking around wildly. He was in his bed, in his flat. He fell back against the pillows, breathing heavily.

"That was some dream," he murmured to himself, rubbing his face.

Oddly, he didn't feel hungover the way he usually did in the mornings. In fact, in fact he felt surprisingly good.

Sitting up, he looked around the room. He didn't even remember getting himself to bed. He must have been a mess though, to have slept through the night. Light was filtering through the curtains, so he knew it was morning.

Christmas morning.

He shook his head. Taking care of his morning ablutions, he padded into the living room, only to stop dead at the door.

The room was spotlessly clean, and there was a tree in the corner, decorated in the most mish-mashed decorations George had ever seen. He instantly loved it. On the table was a stack of brightly wrapped boxes, and, when George neared, he could see that each one was for a member of his family.

George frowned, looking around the room. On the mantle, a piece of parchment was propped with his name on it. Flipping it open, he let out a small half laugh, half sob.

In Fred's messy scrawl were the words, _Time to get your shit together, Georgie. I love you._

George shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, the note gripped tightly in his other hand.

"You might… you might be right, Freddie," he whispered.

He laughed out loud when he heard an echo of, " _I always am."_

…

"George?"

George stepped passed Percy cautiously, his arms laden with the gifts from his living room. Dropping the presents by the tree, he turned and found himself being hugged tightly by Percy.

He returned the hug, burying his face against his big brother's neck for a moment. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry I've been hurting you all."

Percy pulled back, and cuffed George's cheek. "You're here."

"Where's Mum?"

"Kitchen," Percy replied with a small smile. "Where else? Dad's in there too. Everyone else is still in bed, lazy shits."

George led the way into the kitchen, chuckling when his mum turned to look and let out a little happy shriek. She crossed the room faster than George had ever seen her move, gripping him into a bone-crushing hug.

It took George a minute to realise she was crying. "Hey, don't cry," he murmured, rubbing a soothing hand up her back. "I'm here, Mum. You don't need to cry anymore, okay."

His dad smiled at him from the kitchen table, nodding his head slightly, a proud gleam in his eyes. George returned the smile, before he returned his attention to his mum.

Guilty that he'd caused this, but determined to fix it, he held her until she pulled away, a tremulous smile on her face.

"I love you, Mum."

…

George being at the Burrow for Christmas didn't fix everything. He hadn't really expected it to. It still hurt, every time he saw pictures of Fred, and his hands were itching to find the first, most alcoholic thing he could, but he pushed through it.

He hugged his siblings, smiled for his mum, met his niece (and didn't that make him feel like a douche?), and he stayed.

He hoped he made Fred proud.

As night fell, he stood to leave and gently batted away his mum's requests for him to spend the night.

Looking down at the blue soulmark on his hand, he looked back up at her. "I have someone else I need to apologise too."

A look of understanding appeared on her face and she nodded. "Don't expect too much too soon," she murmured to him, kissing his cheek. "And come home more often. Please."

"I promise," he assured her, squeezing her hand.

If nothing else, he was done hurting her. Apparating away from the yard, George silently promised that.

…

He leant against the wall, waiting. He didn't know what time Seamus would be finished at the hospital, but… he'd wait all night if he had too.

Thankfully, it was only about an hour after George had arrived that Seamus appeared.

He was frowning at George, clearly puzzled and very apprehensive.

"You have… every right to hate me," George said quietly. "I'm a mess. But… I'm also sorry. And I want… I want to try and do better. Try and be better."

Seamus was silent for a long moment, and then he was shoving his hands into his pockets and sighing. "I don't hate you."

George would take that. He could… he could work with that.

It was a start.

…

 _ **December 25th, 2003**_

"Uh, shhhhh," Seamus grumbled, blindly smacking away George's tickling hands. "It's too early."

"It's Christmas," George replied, nuzzling against Seamus' cheek. "I want Christmas kisses."

"What's the difference between normal kisses and Christmas kisses?" Seamus mumbled, his face still buried in his pillow.

"Erm… I promise not to complain about morning breath?"

"We're wizards, George. We have spells for that. Try again."

"Okay… it's Christmas kisses and also anniversary kisses?"

"It was our anniversary on the 19th."

"Well. Yes. Of the bond. But today is the anniversary of me pulling my head out of my ass?"

Seamus snorted, but turned his head to look at George, apparently giving up on sleep. "Hmm. That's probably a reason to celebrate, isn't it?"

"Exactly," George replied, pressing kisses to the side of Seamus' face. "Merry Christmas, Babe."

Seamus smiled, shifting so he was tucked up against George. "Merry Christmas."

George kissed him, not worrying about the charms, until Seamus swatted him away and grabbed his wand off the bedside table, casting it on both of them.

"I literally just said we have spells," he grumbled, putting his wand back. "Kisses."

George chuckled against his lips.

When they seperated, George kept his grip on Seamus firm, holding him close.

"Marry me?"

Seamus blinked. "We're already bonded, Sweetheart."

"I know. I know that, but… I… want you to be Seamus Weasley, and I… I want to see _my_ ring on _your_ finger."

"Possessive shit," Seamus grumbled. "Of course I'll marry you. But I'm also telling your mum about this very unromantic proposal."

George blinked. "She'll kill me."

"Uh huh."

"Shit."

Seamus laughed.

George shook his head. "I love you, you cruel fiend."

"I love you too."

…

 _ **Sitting on a cloud somewhere…**_

Fred waggled his eyebrows at Dean. "You owe me ten galleons. Told you the soft git would propose on Christmas, didn't I?"

Dean groaned. "How was I supposed to know that he'd be so goddamn cliche?"

"Pay up!"

"... we're dead. Where the hell you gonna spend them? Actually… where the hell am I gonna get them for you to spend them?"

Fred frowned. "We didn't think this through."


End file.
